Think of Me
by Banana Kisses
Summary: Modern!AU. He's a CEO. She's a broadway star. He's married, and she still holds dear the memory of her lost love. But they both came together drawn by one thing: song. Oneshot request by aPeurDeFISH1412.


**Hello, everyone!**

**Sorry for my hiatus, but life had been very busy lately. I've mostly been fangir****ling over Fairest. Who hasn't?**

**aPeurDeFISH1412, here is your promised one-shot! I'm sorry for the...um...six months it took, but I hope you find it worth the wait!**

**A few things to note: Channary never has a child here, and Kai is around 13 years old instead of 18.**

**I hope you enjoy, and don't forget to leave some feedback!**

**Banana Kisses**

* * *

"I can't BELIEVE you! This is the third time this week! How often are you going to leave me hanging?!"

"Miwako, please, I have a headache," Rikan mumbled. He heard his wife sigh on the other end of the line. He held the phone away from his ear, rubbing his temples with his free hand.

"Well, why don't you come home then?" Miwako hissed, and he knew that she was tapping her foot on the floor.

"I need to finish this report. I'll barely be an hour, I promise."

There was a moment of silence. "Rikan, this can't go on. Something has to give," Miwako said, her voice weary. "You're driving Kai to school tomorrow, by the way."

Before Rikan could respond, Miwako hung up abruptly. A tired sigh escaped him as he bent over on his desk. His head pounded with a lingering ring in his ears.

"Mr. Huang? Is there anything I can do for you?"

Rikan turned his head, taking in the sight of Tashmi Priya, his personal assistant, at the door of his office. She stood tall, sharp and professional in her black dress pants and violet blouse.

"Could you bring me some tea and an Advil?"

"Of course, Sir." She stepped closer, eyeing her boss with concern. "Are you sure that you don't want to go home?"

Rikan pinched the bridge of his nose. "No, Priya, I'll be fine...I just..." he sighed, "I just want to get this done."

"If you say so," Priya sighed, adjusting her glasses. "May I also remind you that you're invited to the opening of The Phantom of the Opera tomorrow night."

A moment of silence. "I completely forgot," Rikan said, running a hand through his tousled hair. "Is this with the company, or is it a personal invitation?"

"Personal. Miwako and Kaito are invited as well."

"Is this the one with the Blackburn sisters?"

Priya nodded. "I believe so."

A small smile tugged at Rikan's lips. The Blackburn sisters were renown throughout the world of Broadway as the best actresses of the twenty-first century. According to the critics, there was no finer soprano lead than Levana Blackburn, the youngest of the two. "Remind me, did I already RSVP for this, or did you—"

"I RSVP'd for you two weeks ago, Sir. I've been reminding you every day."

Rikan let out an uneasy laugh. "I'm sorry Priya, I've just been so busy and distracted lately..."

"I understand. Don't worry, I've gone through many rough patches myself," Priya said, turning towards the door. "I'll be back in a minute with your tea."

"Thank you."

"By the way, Mr. Huang," Priya stuck her head back into the office, "could you get Miwako to call me? We were planning on coffee next Tuesday."

"Of course," Rikan sighed.

Turning back to his desk, he gazed out the wide glass window that made up most of that wall, distracted by the twinkling lights of Beijing. The city was a living organism even at that hour, the sound of traffic and bustling people cutting through the walls of the office building. The Beijing Theatre glowed in the distance amongst the cluster of skyscrapers, where the stage was most likely being prepared for the next day.

With a deep breath, Rikan tore his gaze from the bright dome and went straight to work, burying himself in numbers—his most constant companions.

* * *

Aircraft came in left and right around one of Beijing's two airports; which one it was, however, Levana didn't know. Jet-lagged and slightly nauseous, she was dragged through the two seven-hour flights by her best friend Sybil and older sister Channary, who never stopped complaining once throughout the whole ordeal.

Finally, early that morning in Beijing's time zone, Levana walked out of the gate into the sprawling airport, barely holding back a yawn. Drowsiness made her head swim as she dragged her carry-on suitcase behind her.

"Hello, Beijing! I have arrived!" Channary announced, her voice annoyingly chipper, obviously not tired. Channary was never tired, it seemed. Lovely as ever in a pastel dress and white pumps, she put her arms out in the air and posed like a supermodel at the end of the gate.

"No one cares, Channary," Levana grumbled, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

"Hey," Channary went on as if Levana had never spoken, "where's the paparazzi? Where is my legion of adoring fans?"

Sybil quickly caught up with them, tugging Channary's heavy wheelbag in addition to her own briefcase slung across her shoulders. "Channary, pipe down. There's already enough noise here without your help."

"But Sybil," Channary whined, "I was promised world-class service! And I tell you, up until now, I have been quite ripped off. Seriously, fourteen hours beside a man who—"

"Channary, could do us all a favour by shutting up and moving out of the way? People are getting mad," Levana said, brushing past her older sister.

Channary sniffed. "Remind me again, why did we have to bring the grunge rat along?"

Levana rolled her eyes, plopping down on one of the blue-clad seats in the gate's waiting area, burying her face in her palms. Her long auburn hair was frizzy again, despite her best efforts to straighten it before leaving home. Her sickly pale skin was nearly translucent without makeup.

Unlike her sister's lovely summer dress, she wore a thick sweater that did nothing for her figure, instead seeming to swallow her whole.

She closed her eyes and thought of herself on stage, singing, dressed in a shimmering gown, her hair smooth and flaws hidden. The one place where she could be beautiful. The one place where she could be herself.

"Hey."

Levana peered up at Sybil, who stood over her like a giant.

"Would you like me to take your bag for you?" she asked, genuine concern in her voice.

"No, it's fine," Levana said, yawning. "You have enough already with all of Her Majesty's junk."

"Hey! It's not junk, it's the bare necessities of a star," Channary said, sighing dramatically. "I need it to look my very best at all times. Not that you'd know about that, Levana." She smirked. "Oh, I'm sorry—Ugly Duckling, I meant to say."

Levana rolled her eyes again. "That name is so old. Can't you at least come up with something clever?"

Sybil cut between the two of them, setting down Channary's bag and putting her hands on her hips. "Oh, would you two just stop it? You bicker more than my two nieces, and believe me, they're the worst."

Levana let out a huff before standing, gripping the handle of her suitcase like it was Channary's throat. Said woman tossed her hair over her shoulder, crossing her arms over chest.

"Okay, so the limo will be waiting for us at arrivals, east side of terminal 3," Sybil said, her thumb swiping feverishly across the screen of her phone.

"A limo! Thank goodness! I was beginning to think that we were going to take a cab to the hotel," Channary said, crinkling her nose in disgust.

Levana stretched her arms out and arched her back. With a sigh, she followed Sybil and Channary, who had already begun to walk away. The throng of moving bodies made her nervous as she seemed to wade through the people, being shoved back and forth. Levana could feel hysteria building in her stomach, the product of a lifetime of social anxiety. Even as a child, she had never fared well in a crowd.

Finally, she broke free of the mess with a gasp, holding her suitcase close to her so to not lose it. The glass doors at the end of the terminal slid open, revealing a line of posh vehicles lined up outside. Channary strut out of the noisy airport into the even louder city, Sybil and Levana close behind.

"The driver should be here any second," Sybil said, her eyes still glued to the screen.

Levana shook her head, still dazed from the craziness of the airport. Sybil had to pull her aside so that she didn't get trampled by officers and other travellers.

"Any time now..." Channary said, tapping her foot on the floor.

"Patience is a virtue," Levana grumbled, setting her bag on the floor and sitting on it.

Sybil let out a groan, strained by the weight of Channary's gargantuan luggage. She slipped her phone back in her pocket, putting a hand on her hip. The rush of the crowd continued to pass by, the sound of conversation and barked orders in every language coming together in a melting pot of noise that made Levana's head pound even more.

A squeal broke out from the boisterous clamour as a young girl, no older than thirteen, came running over, her eyes bright and hair dishevelled. "Oh, Stars...is it really you?" she breathed, clutching a pen in your fist. "Are you Channary Blackburn?"

A grin broke across Channary's face, and she put a hand to her chest. "The one and only," she said.

The girl let out a laugh, obviously elated. "I'm sorry for bothering you, but," she pulled a piece of paper out of her pocket and held it out along with the pen, "could I please have your autograph?"

"Why, of course," Channary said, taking the pen and paper from the giggling girl. Levana watched the whole thing unfold from on top of her suitcase, cupping her chin in her palms. Sybil kept her eyes glued to the road, watching like a hawk for the limousine.

"Peony! How many times do I have to tell you to stop running off!" another voice screeched, making Levana jump. From the behind the young girl, and older woman and a second teenager came running, obviously distraught.

"But Mom," the girl whined, "I just couldn't pass this up! I'm like, your biggest fan," she said, to Channary this time. "You were awesome as Elphaba, by the way."

Channary smiled, lapping up the praise. "I know, right? That was probably my best role." She handed back the pen and paper. Leaning closer to Peony, she winked. "But just between you and me, I had more fun doing Amber from Hairspray."

Peony bit her lip, her cheeks flushed. "I just...I can't believe I've met you..."

"Peony, seriously!" The other girl came and grabbed Peony by the arm. "Let's go! Dad's probably waiting for us and Mom is flipping out!"

"Aw, Pearl, you're no fun at all," Peony sighed. "I was nice meeting you!" she called out as her sister pulled her away, waving.

Channary smiled and waved back as the girl disappeared into the crowd. "What a cute little thing," she cooed.

"And here I am, unappreciated and unloved," Levana mumbled.

"Oh, cry me a river. You've always been second rate, just as you always will be," Channary said, placing her hands on her hips.

"Come on, the limo's here!" Sybil shouted, her face lighting up in relief as the chauffeur took Channary's heavy bag from her. Channary and Levana both turned their gaze to the limo, the former beaming and the latter cringing. Levana put a hand to her stomach; she could feel the nausea already. She prayed that she wouldn't get carsick.

With a giggle, Channary spun on her heels and strut towards the limo as if she were walking down the red carpet—all that was missing was her blowing kisses to the nonexistent paparazzi. Levana reluctantly stood and followed with her luggage in tow, light compared to her sister's excessive belongings. She thanked the driver graciously as he also took the suitcase from her, putting it in the trunk along with Channary's things. Sybil insisted on keeping her briefcase.

All three women got into the spacious vehicle, the leather interior seeming crisp and impersonal, like it always did. Levana had ridden in expensive cars all her life—from her mother's convertible to her father's BMW. Marrok and Jannali Blackburn were quite the motor fanatics before their untimely passing when Levana was just a child. Ever since then, she had always felt sick at the very mention of cars, and the accident a few years back had only made her unease worse.

"You'll be fine," Sybil said, putting a hand on Levana's shoulder.

Levana sighed. _Relax, relax. You'll be fine. It's just a car_. "Thank you," she replied.

Sybil smiled, leaning back into the comfortable seat. "Ah, this is the life, I tell you." She stuck a hand in her pocket. "Being an agent is such fun, especially when you get to take advantage of all the luxuries."

Levana cringed as the limo came to life, the gentle hum of the engine making her stomach do pirouettes. "Yes, what _luxuries_," she said.

She heard Channary scoff in the corner, draped elegantly with a glass of sherry at her lips. She never wasted time when it came to drinks. "Is there ever a time when you stop complaining, Ugly?"

"Channary, you're the last person in the world who should be making that statement," Sybil retorted, gently rubbing Levana's shoulder.

"Oh, Sybil! Why must you ruin my chipper mood?" Channary sighed dramatically, putting a hand to her forehead. "I was so looking forward to my stay here, but I'm afraid that your bad attitude might've just ruined it."

Levana rolled her eyes, staring intently out the window.

"And why, may I ask, are you such a drama queen?" Sybil said, clearly amused.

"I was just..." Channary looked down at her hands, "so very excited, so eager to see him..."

"Quit the theatrics."

"Do you remember Torin?" Channary asked suddenly, her dramatic tone gone.

"The Chinese exchange student from senior year? Of course." Sybil put a finger to her lips. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, we've kept in touch since he retuned home, and well...he's one of the VIP guests to tonight's show. But get this." She leaned closer, clutching her glass like a vice. "He had also requested invitations for his family. I said yes, of course. There'll also be a meet-and-greet after the show with Mr. Huang."

"Huang Rikan? The CEO of Eastern Enterprises?"

"Yeah. His company is one of our sponsors, so he'll be there as well." Channary shrugged. "He and Torin are friends—funny, I never knew."

"That seems cool. What do you think, Levana?" Sybil said, folding her hands in her lap.

Levana hunched her shoulders. "I don't know."

"Are you okay? Not too sick?"

"No, I'm fine," Levana said, tucking her hands into the sleeves of her huge sweater. Sybil left her alone after that, caught up in a phone call. Levana continued to stare out the window, at the city all around. The buildings were covered in signs, scrawled over with symbols that meant nothing to her. She had learned kanji in Japanese, but they must've had a different meaning in China—she couldn't make a lick of sense of them.

Before long, the familiar feeling of her stomach tying itself in knots was nearly overwhelming. She stared up at the sky, the only unmoving point, humming a gentle tune under her breath so to not throw up on her sister's lap.

* * *

"Kai, sweetie, hurry up! You'll get run over if you don't stop dawdling!" Miwako called out over her shoulder, gripping the strap of her purse in a clenched fist.

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" Kai shouted, breaking through the throng of people. The boy wore formal clothes for a change, a nice suit and tie—part of his own volition, but mostly because his mother wouldn't let him leave home in a t-shirt. He caught up with his parents, gazing in awe at the sparkling theatre. A sort of moat surrounded the building, the water crystalline and clear.

Rikan took their tickets out of his wallet as they approached the entrance, the beeping of the scanners constant as person after person entered the theatre. The bustle was nothing to them, and they waded through the crowd effortlessly, taking their seats without the slightest commotion.

Soon, the lights dimmed and the theatre was closed; the show was about to begin.

Rikan was immediately sucked into the play, having grown up with his mother, an actress herself. The stage was set up perfectly, conveying the tone of an old-fashioned opera. The first few songs were pleasing to the ear and the actors were seamlessly immersed in their parts.

Then, as sweet as a bird, Levana Blackburn came onstage.

If it wasn't her beauty that sucked the air out of the room, then it was her voice that did the trick. Never had Rikan heard such a pure sound. As soon she opened her mouth, the crowd was in a stupor, enchanted by her siren's call. She was dressed in a white gown made of the finest silk, shining and shimmering in the stage light. She was the very image of gentle grace, the very image of a queen.

Instead of a queen, though, she had slipped into the skin of a lovesick teenager, pouring her heart into her performance. As if she had lived the same thing herself. The soft flush of her cheeks made it seem like the song was familiar to her, like it brought back her own memories of being madly in love.

Rikan set his cheek on his knuckles, mystified. All the people around him did the same. Before long, though, the song ended, much too soon for the audience's liking.

The show continued on through the two acts, entertaining and well done, but the best scenes by far were the ones with Levana, truly bringing Christine's character to life. At the end, the audience stood and burst into applause, throwing roses and other flowers at the performers' feet as they all bowed at the curtain call.

"That was amazing," Kai said, his eyes bright with wonder.

Rikan smiled, still clapping his hands. "It was, wasn't it?"

Miwako laid her head on her husband's shoulder, sighing. "I'm glad that you liked it, Kai," she said, glancing over at her son. "I told you that the classics were better than the noise that you listen to these days."

"Hey!" Kai huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "My music is so much better. This is just...well, it's different."

Rikan laughed, putting a hand on his son's shoulder. "Maybe next time we'll go to a rock concert," he mused.

"That would be awesome," Kai said, putting his hands in his pockets.

The three of them continued to chat as they made their way to the lobby amongst the swarm of suits and multicoloured cocktail dresses. Kai and Miwako left for home, both exhausted. Rikan understood; after all, Kai did have school tomorrow. He would just have to enjoy the meet-and-greet on his own.

It didn't take him long to meet up with Torin, who was by the bar, enjoying a shot of some sort. On his lap was a woman, quite obviously tipsy, with a warm flush to her tan skin. She laughed as Torin said something that was lost in the clamour of the room.

The couple jumped as Rikan cleared his throat, the woman tucking a lock of chestnut hair behind her ear. "Oh, you must be Mr. Huang!" she exclaimed, draping an arm around Torin's shoulder.

"There you are, Rikan! I've looking for you," Torin said, smiling. "You've met Channary, right?"

Rikan nodded politely and Channary waved, fluttering her fingers. "I hope you enjoyed the show," she giggled.

"It was wonderful." He smiled. "Your sister was particularly enchanting."

At the mention of Levana, Channary frowned slightly, her grip on Torin's shoulder tightening. "I guess she was." Channary blew a strand of hair from her face. "Of course, it isn't often that she has the spotlight, so she took advantage of it; a wise choice, for once."

Rikan felt a wash of unease at the bitterness in Channary's voice. She simply smiled and laughed, tossing her hair and whispering something in Torin's ear. "Well, I guess I'll leave you two be," Rikan said, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Do you know where I could find Levana?"

Channary pointed to her right. "Probably in the orchestra pit, fiddling with the piano. She always does that; I swear, she's allergic to people. She avoids crowds like the plague."

Rikan thanked her before making his way back to the stage. The large hall was nearly empty, save for a few crew members sweeping and rearranging stage props. A lone figure sat amidst the gleaming instruments, gently playing the piano, making it sound like a crying woman one moment, a laughing child the next. Rikan snuck up behind the tubas, listening intently. He had never heard the song before; he wondered if was popular in America.

Levana continued to play, unaware of his presence. She was still in her white gown, a sheer shawl draped over her shoulders. Her auburn hair was twisted in a braid with soft blossoms, making her look younger than she really was.

Her pale fingers gently brushed the keys as she played the last chord. With a sigh, she squared her shoulders. "I know you're there," she said.

Rikan felt his stomach tying into knots, the embarrassment of having been caught staring creeping up in his cheeks. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bother you." He ran a hand through his hair. "You just sounded so good and I wanted to listen, that's all. It's rude of me, I know, but I just—"

Levana let out a little laugh, setting her hands in her lap. "It's fine. No one ever comes back here, so your presence was just...unexpected, that's all."

Rikan took a step forward. "Your performance tonight was amazing. You really live up to your name."

A soft blush crept up to Levana's cheeks, and she looked away. "Thank you. The Phantom of the Opera has always been my favourite show," she sighed, fiddling with the ends of her hair. "I remember my parents bringing me to the production in San Francisco when I was little; there, I saw the woman playing Christine and said, someday, I'm going to be like her. I guess some dreams do come true."

Rikan, much to her surprise, seated himself beside her on the bench, and Levana scooted over, obviously intimidated. "How long have you played for?"

"I started taking piano when I was four," Levana mumbled.

"It really shows," Rikan said, running up a scale, half made of naturals, half made of flats. "You're amazing. What song was that, by the way?"

"Some lullaby that my father taught me years ago," Levana replied, playing a scale of her own. "I can't remember the name." Her brow furrowed. "There were words too, but my father had forgotten them as well."

Rikan stayed silent for a moment, watching her face fall. "What happened to him?"

Levana took a deep breath. "Both my parents died in a car accident when I was six. Most people say it was because of the snow."

Rikan's eyes widened, then softened in sympathy. "I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have asked."

"No, it's quite alright. It happened years ago; I'm pretty much over it now." Levana tried to cover her lie with a laugh, but it no avail. "My family just has really bad luck with cars."

Rikan's gaze caught hold on her left hand, on a dark band around her ring finger. "What's this?" he asked, mulling it over.

Levana instantly brought her hand to her chest, cradling it protectively. "My wedding ring."

"That has to be the most...interesting ring I've ever seen," Rikan laughed, but silenced himself at Levana's cold glare.

"I shouldn't be having this conversation with a stranger," she snapped, cradling her ring hand like a newborn baby.

Rikan was taken aback by her sudden hostility, but he covered it with an apologetic smile. "I didn't mean to offend you—I've just never seen a black wedding ring. Normally those are gold or silver, don't you think?"

Levana looked down at the band, her eyes watering. "It's one of a kind," she mumbled, "just like he had been."

"Him? Your husband?"

"Yes," Levana whimpered, biting her lip. "I miss him terribly...he's gone now, and it's all my fault..."

Rikan felt slightly uncomfortable, having upset her like this, a woman he had barely met just ten minutes ago. "How so?"

"If I had not been so stupid, if I had just called a taxi to bring us home instead of letting him drive, he would still be here beside me, he would've been in the front row of tonight's show..."

Rikan put a hand on her shoulder, and she flinched. "Are you alright?"

Levana wiped her eyes, careful not to smudge her mascara. "I'm fine, let's just...let's just drop the subject." She shook her head. "It's not worth talking about."

An awkward silence fell over them, interrupted only by the clatter that echoed from backstage. After a moment, Rikan cleared his throat and said, "Could you sing for me?"

"What?"

"Sing your favourite song from the show. I would love to hear you again."

Levana looked down at the gleaming piano keys, her fingers curling around the tight sleeves of her gown. "I guess I could..."

She cleared her throat and took a deep breath, tucking her stray hair behind her ear. Her fingers once again flew across the keyboard, and she closed her eyes, letting herself get lost in the music.

'_Think of me, think of me fondly,_

_when we've said goodbye..._

_Remember me, once in a while,_

_please promise me you'll try...'_

Rikan smiled, closing his own eyes. Think of me, the love ballad. Or course it was her favourite. With her voice, he found that it was his, too.

'_When you find, that once again,_

_you long to take your heart back and be free,_

_if you ever find a moment, spare a thought for me...'_

Levana's voice sent chills down his spine, and he noticed that the staff had stopped working and stood in the wings, listening intently.

'_We never said our love was evergreen,_

_or as unchanging as the sea!_

_But if you can still remember,_

_stop and think of me..._

_Think of all the things_

_we've shared and seen,_

_Don't think about the things which might have been...'_

Rikan stared intently at her wispy fingers, his eyes inexplicably repelled from her face. He couldn't help but feel like he was intruding on one of her private moments, a song to her dead husband, words for just the two of them.

_'Think of me,_

_think of me waking, silent and resigned..._

_Imagine me,_

_trying too hard to put you from my mind!_

_Recall those days, look back on all those times,_

_think of the things we'll never do!_

_There will never be a day when_

_I won't think of you!'_

The musical interlude felt like a thousand years, and when it ended, he saw Levana's mouth about to open, but he beat her to it, joining in with the best voice he could muster.

_'Can it be..._

_Can it be Christine?'_

Levana looked at him, surprised, yet her fingers continued to dance with the keys. Rikan smiled.

_'Long ago, it seems to long ago,_

_how young and innocent we were!_

_She may not remember me, but I remember her...'_

Levana smiled in return, picking up the tempo, the music growing louder and brighte_r._

_'Flowers fade, the fruits of summer fade,_

_they have their seasons, so do we..._

_But please promise me, that sometimes_

_you will think...of me!'_

Levana hushed and released the pedal, bringing her arms back to her sides. She seemed in a trance, her face a vision of serenity. The soothing effect of the music had calmed her nerves, and the crew stood by the stage, unmoving. The clatter of someone's broom managed to burst Levana's bubble, and she shook her head, sighing.

"Was that good?" she asked.

Everyone in the room, Rikan included, began to applaud softly, and Levana seemed spooked at the sight of the staff. She had forgotten that they were there. Within a few minutes, they had turned their backs and returned to work, leaving the two alone.

"That was amazing," Rikan said.

"You weren't so bad yourself." Levana smiled, all traces of her earlier sadness gone. She flipped her braid off her shoulder, the rope-like thing gently brushing his arm. "Would you like to sing another song with me?"

"We could be the next big duo," he laughed, and Levana laughed along with him. She struck up another tune, this time fast and bouncy, making them both sway in time on the bench.

_'Anything you can do, I can do better...'_

* * *

Her parents had always yelled a lot.

Levana was much too young at the time to understand what they yelled about, words like 'whore' and 'cheater' making no sense to her six-year-old mind. Her mother had always called her a father a filthy cheater. Levana thought that he kept on cheating at card games, and that's why her mother was so angry all the time. Levana hated it when Channary would slip behind her back and switch up the scores or trick her into revealing her hand.

But that day was different. That day had started out nice and calm for a change, and Levana nearly felt worried. Such odd moods were never present in her home. Only when her father scooped her up for a kiss did she smile, giggling like the happy child that she wanted to be. Channary sat by at the breakfast table, gobbling down a bowl of cereal as if she hadn't eaten for days.

"Sybil's waiting for me, Mom," she said as a reply to her mother's demands to slow down. "It's Saturday!"

"And her mother is picking you up, right?" said Marrok, sitting Levana down at her high chair. "You know that we're taking your sister to the doctor's this morning."

"Yeah," Channary said between mouthfuls, earning looks of disgust from Jannali.

"Your manners are atrocious, dear."

Channary rolled her eyes, setting her spoon in the bowl with a clink. "It's fine, Mom."

"You're going to scare off your boyfriends if you continue like that."

Channary made a face, picking up the bowl and gliding into the kitchen on her socked feet. Levana watched her intently, and she continued to gaze at her sister even as Jannali put her in her thick winter coat and carried her out to the car. Her mother hummed softly as she buckled her tightly in the backseat, and Levana sang along, her voice high and squeaky and nothing like the refined sound that she would make in adulthood. She continued to hum through the noise of the engine as they drove out onto the street, the scenery draped in a blanket of white. Little snowflakes stuck to the car window, and Levana barely had time to trace a finger over them before they melted or blew away. It became a little game that she continued to play even as the arguments began to grow louder from the front seats.

Another flake. Jannali's fists pounded on the armrest, her voice shrill and angry. Another gust of wind. Marrok clutched the steering wheel like a vice, his face red with fury. Levana didn't even try to listen, putting her gloved hands over her ears. The noises blended together, and she cringed.

_Make it stop, make it stop!_

Maybe there was a little ghost sitting on her shoulder that listened to her prayers, or maybe it was the brittle ice on the road. She didn't really have the time to figure it out—whatever it was, the noise did indeed stop, replaced with loud thundering that threw Levana forward, her seatbelt digging into her chest and neck. She spluttered, the chafing material choking her, splicing her skin. The car stopped with a ear-splitting crash, the branches of a nearby tree coming in through the shattered windows.

Squeals and screams burst forth from all around, and Levana began to cry from where she was on the ground, the seatbelt having come undone. She was crushed beneath her carseat, her arms pinned behind her back. She continued to wail on the top of her lungs. Her neck hurt, her chest hurt, her head hurt. Those very words kept screeching forth from her mouth even as big gloved hands came in and took her out of the wreck, cutting her out of her jumbled coat and seatbelt.

"Quick! Call an ambulance!"

"Oh, the poor thing! Is she breathing?"

"There's no way they could've survived that..."

Levana tried to squirm free of the arms that confined her, her small feet bare and bloody and cold. She caught a glimpse of her furry boots on the side of the road, torn and splattered with red. Her father's guitar that had been stored in the trunk lay across the asphalt in splinters, and she could've sworn that she heard the strings move in a song that Marrok would play all the time.

"MOMMY! DADDY!" Levana screamed, blood seeping from a gash on her forehead and pooling around one of her eyes. She blinked and whimpered, the arms cradling her gently.

"Don't worry, sweetheart—you'll be perfectly fine. I promise."

"Where's my mommy? I want her, please, I want her..."

The voice that belonged to the arms softened, and Levana buried her head in the soft chest. "She's okay. You're all okay," she said reassuringly. "You'll all be fine."

Levana should've known that the woman was lying.

* * *

Levana's eyes gleamed as she left the large house with Evret in tow, his arm wrapped around her waist. Winter held his other hand, skipping along merrily. Evret kissed Levana's cheek in that playful manner of his, and she pursed her lips, her cheeks flushed. The large sleeves of her sweater were damp with melted snow and booze, her head spinning slightly. She laughed and laughed, not even hearing what her husband—equally as drunk as she was—went on about.

They had been married for three years now, and the span of those years had been like a dream, full of bliss and stolen kisses and often ridiculous rendezvous. Evret would always be at the front at her concerts, wanting nothing more than to hear his wife sing. They would often sing together in duets in the privacy of their own home, for Evret would describe his voice as 'that of a mauled bear'. Levana would always reassure him that he sounded fine, yet the cringes on her face would always give away her thoughts.

He was the only person whom she would reveal herself to, scarred and broken like she was. The accident had left gaping scars on the left side of her body and neck, barely missing her face. She had nearly lost her feet, but a few transfusions managed to save her limbs, leaving only faint spots as remnants of the frostbite. Channary had been quick to come up with insults and names, often lifting up Levana's shirt in public, earning her a trip to the police station on one occasion for indecent exposure. Their foster parents had managed to squander most of Channary's assault, but the teasing would never stop.

But when Evret first saw her, he didn't laugh. He didn't sneer in disgust. He smiled and gently kissed her skin, her neck, her breast, and for the first time in her life, Levana loved her scars. She loved him, and his little daughter, Winter. The girl had been no more than two when they married, a child from Evret's previous lover, who had tragically died giving birth. Little Winter had always made Levana smile, with her love for apples and playing with her stepmother's shoes. My little bird, she would call her.

It was a crisp December night, the 23rd, to be exact. Sybil had thrown another one of her boisterous Christmas parties, full of music and dancing and plenty of other children for Winter to play with. Levana and Channary had both been the highlights of the karaoke contest, the former crooning out soft holiday ballads and the latter belting out spectacular broadway numbers. After the third glass of champagne, Levana had begun to feel tipsy, so Evret offered to take their small family home. Winter gladly agreed, trying to chase off Jacin Clay, Garrison Clay's hyper son.

Levana slid into the front as Evret put Winter in her car seat, the little girl giggling and playing with a blanket made for her by her birth mother. The thing was getting old and dirty—Levana had offered to wash it, but Winter would fuss every time it was taken away from her. "If you wash it, all the kids will lose their mittens," she would say.

Evret kissed his wife on the cheek before starting the car, and Levana put her head on his shoulder, breathing in his musky scent. A mix of pine and something fruity, it always made Levana blush. The roads were relatively clear, nothing but ice standing in their way.

The déjà-vu was uncanny. In a single instant, Levana saw herself once again as a child in her mother's car, her parents yelling and the tires skidding, then the tree and the seatbelt and the blood _oh god_—

It had all happened so fast. Levana barely had the time to scream, Winter barely had the time to cry, Evret barely had time to say goodbye before his head went through the windshield. Spurts of sticky blood streaked across Levana's face as she was thrown back in her seat, her neck nearly snapped, stars exploding in her vision. The car was still moving for a moment before coming to a halt on the side of the road, the front of the vehicle completely destroyed. The pickup truck they had collided with had been much luckier, only half of the body dented and no blood spilt. It stopped a few meters ahead, and the passengers came running out, shouting things that Levana couldn't even begin to comprehend. Her head was pinned back by the airbag, but through the white fabric she could see Evret's broken body, his bloody face, bits of his brain on the shattered windshield. _He forgot to put on his seatbelt._

People came rushing around, surveying the area and dousing the fire that had started in the front from the damaged engine. The passenger door was pried open and Levana was quickly cut free from the wreck, mumbling like a senile old woman. She cried out at the pain in her dislocated shoulder.

Not as loud as she cried, though, when she saw two paramedics take out a small body from the backseat, the broken bird, her limbs nearly ripped off and her head lolled back like a rag doll. Her precious eyes were wide and unblinking.

"No," Levana whimpered, "_Winter_...little bird..."

She was gently handled into a stretcher and she watched with horror as they put Winter in a small body bag, zipping up the tomb, choking the child, sealing her away. Levana began to thrash about, despite the protests of those around her. She fought against the hands that held her down, the velcro straps that came down around her chest.

_Evret...no...please, no..._

It couldn't have been real. They were just a family going on a drive. A mother, a father, a daughter. But in the chilly air, there was no denying the scent of smoke and gas and sprawled flesh. There was no denying the blood on her face. There was no denying the shouts of the paramedics and policemen, all repeating a single word.

_DOA_.

* * *

Rikan awoke the next morning to the buzzing of his phone, making the glass table on which it sat shake ever so slightly. He let out a groan, trying to shake the dizziness from his head. The buzzing stopped after a moment, having gone to voicemail.

He sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, the sheets pooling around his waist. Looking down at himself, he quickly came to the realization that he was naked beneath the linen. His cheeks flamed, especially when he noticed the sleeping form next to him. Levana's hair was loose from its braid, tangled and sprawled over her shoulders, barely covering the light bruises that decorated her skin. She looked wild, unkempt—absolutely beautiful.

He felt dread squirm in his stomach like a parasite, regret and shame and satisfaction coming together all at once. What had he done? Although the answer was as plain as day, the words sill kept on spinning like a mantra in his head as he gently—as he gently as he could—tossed aside the covers and flung on his clothes, bile rising in his throat. Not because of the woman sleeping peacefully in the bed, not even because of what he knew they had done together the night before, but because of his phone constantly buzzing over and over again.

Cursing internally, he scooped up the wretched thing in one hand. Miwako calling. Of course. She must've been worried sick, no, she must've been furious. He could only imagine how much of a hard time he would receive as soon as he stepped through the front door.

His heart heavy with guilt, he pressed down on the red decline button, sneaking a glance over at Levana. She hadn't moved, unperturbed by the sound. Her marked skin nearly shone in the sunlight. When Rikan had taken off her clothes the night before, she had been so insecure, so upset over her own body, although he couldn't fathom why. As much as he hated to admit it, she was extremely appealing to him, deformed or not.

The memories came thundering down, of touching her skin, every breathy moan echoing in his head. He couldn't even remember how they had gotten to that point, it had happened so quickly; they had left the theatre together in a posh cab, and he held the trembling Levana the whole ride back to her hotel. She had invited him over for a drink and a song, which turned to two, to three, then to love.

The guilt was a snake now, slithering up his spine and his throat, threatening to choke him alive. Miwako would be devastated if she found out...how could he have done this to her? And Kai, who had no idea that his parents were no longer in love—what would he think? As he stared at Levana, he felt the urge to wake her, to pine the blame on her, but no...it wasn't her fault. He was an equal participant. He had insisted on another glass of wine, on another ballad, on another kiss.

He jumped slightly as he heard Levana stir and roll over, clutching the sheets in her fists. The glint of her ring caught his eye, and he unconsciously ran a finger over his own wedding band. The one that he had forsaken, the vow that he had broken.

He gently stepped up to the bedside, brushing a stray hair from her rosy cheeks. Bending down, he placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. "It's been a pleasure meeting you, Miss Blackburn," he whispered, like a lover.

"Mmm...Evret..." Levana sighed, rolling over once again.

Rikan took his phone out and sent a quick text, the bright screen burning his eyes.

_Honey, I'm sorry I never came home last night, but there was a last-minute report that I had to finish up at the office and I ended up staying at a hotel. I'll be there to pick up Kai after school, I promise. Please, don't wait up for me, I'll be missing out on our lunch date, I'm sorry again, please forgive me._

_I love you._

_Rikan_


End file.
